Casting off

Miraj has sailed over 3000 miles from Virginia, through the Bahamas, to Jamaica, via la Isla de Providencia to Panama. Living on the boat and sailing has become normal and we have learned to adapt to new cultures, each with their own beauracracy, currency and social fabric. Arriving to a new place is always thrilling.  The quarantine flag hoisted on our starboard shroud we are usually bone tiered after a few days of night watches and bumpy conditions. The excitement carries us through the first day’s flurry of activities; visits from immigration, customs and at times the military, and lots of paperwork.  In Jamaica we smelled charcoal fires as we approached land, in Panama the air was hot and thick and screaming monkey’s welcomed us. In Isla de Providencia, Colombia, the Armada boarded us in an anchorage reminiscent of a postcard from the Pacific, and searched our lockers and bilges for contraband. Once we are cleared in we take down the ...

            It was a hot, desultory morning with a calm sea off the northeast coast of Jamaica.  We were trolling some lines behind the boat but my expectations were low.  It is not that it didn’t ‘feel fishy’ that day, it was more that the sea had seemed so ravished by the local fisherman, that in our several weeks in Jamaica I hadn’t seen a fish bigger than my thumb.             Suddenly, my reel was screeching for several seconds, as a fish hit it hard; then there was silence.   I looked back at that point and saw my lure swimming lazily as usual on top of the water.   A large black fin suddenly appeared out of the deep and charged at the lure like an underwater freight train, smacked it hard in a spray of water and shot away with it.  My reel was screeching again like a cat whose tail was stepped on.  I grabbed the rod...

Jamaica is nutmeg and chili pepper mixed with loud rhythms pounded from monstrous sound systems. It is the markets in downtown Kingston bursting with color, people, and more pounding   dance music. Jamaica is 350 miles of coastline. Between Port Antonio and Montego Bay on the North Coast every cove and beach is stolen by   $800 a night luxury bungalows or high-rise hotels. The cities are hijacked by traffic; busses, route cars, taxis, trucks and cars, gushing relentlessly, making walking a deadly endeavor. Patois or Jamaican Creole wakes us at the Montego Bay Yacht Club. Words hard and fast volley back and forth like pellets. A group of fishermen are getting their fishing boats ready for the day, and boat workers jive about lasts nights escapades. The Yacht club is a classy local establishment hosting a mix of cruisers, fishing vessels, and glass bottom boats. There is a dining room, a bar, a swimming pool and   a scent of English colonialism. Two towering Cruise...